


Till The Blood Boils Over

by FelicanFromFairwater



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon!Dean sort of character, Leviathan!Cas sort of character, M/M, Profound Bondage, Serial Killer Castiel, Serial Killer Dean, broment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelicanFromFairwater/pseuds/FelicanFromFairwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a well-known serial killer, as is Castiel Novak, but with a little "angel" intervention, Castiel and Dean are now pegged against each other. More to come soon! *take that how you will*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean breathed in the smell of gunpowder and blood as he shot a round into his now ex-principal's head.  
One.  
Though the gun had a silencer on it, Dean knew he had only a minute before the secretary would get suspicious and come in to investigate. The the woman may've been old, but she could move pretty quick. Dean took a deep breath, and dug out the bullet from Mr. Kingsley's forehead.  
Two.  
Dean smiled as he inhaled the sweet smell of death. This man was corrupt. He raped girls in the locker rooms all the time, he was embezzling money from the school, and he beat his children.  
That last bit was a lie, but Dean didn't really care at this point. He pulled off his gloves, careful not to get blood on his hands. He dropped the bullet and gloves in his bag, and stuffed the gun in his waistband.  
Three.  
Dean composed his wicked smile to a face of steel, and walked out of the office. He flashed his best lady killer smile at the secretary, and she smiled back, oblivious to what she would find when she asked her boss how he took his morning coffee.  
Four.  
Dean walked down the hallway and out the door with a bounce in his step. He threw his bag in the back of the impala, and hopped into the front seat. Baby started right up on the first try, just like she always did.  
Five.  
Just as 17 year-old Dean Winchester sped away from the scene of his first murder, Mrs. Bradley, the secretary, let out a shrill scream as she walked in on the still bleeding form of Mr. Kingsley.  
~~~~~

Castiel Novak took off his trenchcoat and set it on the pew behind him. He sat in the empty chapel, his head in his hands, searching for answers. He folded his hands, and bowed his head. "My father, who art in heaven-" he started, but was cut off by a shrill, ringing noise. Castiel immediately moved his hands to cover his ears, but it did him no good. The sound was coming from inside his head. He let out a shout, but he couldn't hear it over the sound of the ringing. "Castiel... You ... Chosen.... Kill... All... Evil..." The chapel started to shake, and Castiel dived out of the way as part of the ceiling collapsed. "Kill.. All evil.." The voice pierced again into Castiel's skull, "In the name ... Of God."  
"Yes, Father!" Castiel bellowed. The shrieking stopped. The chapel was still. Castiel stood, his mind filled with images of new targets. Now not just petty thieves and wife beaters, but bank robbers, serial rapists, and drug cartel heads. Castiel grinned as his bloodlust finally had a new target. 

Dean Winchester.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a new, high-profile target (Bela Talbot), and gets a hand from an old friend. Meanwhile Castiel is busy tracking Dean by means that are... less than conventional. Sorry this took so long, guys! tell me what you think in the comments!

Five years and 210 kills later, Dean Winchester sat across from the grizzly looking man with a beard in some local diner off the main highway.

“Let me guess,” Dean said to the shorter man with a smile, “another Styx fan?”

“Don’t get smug, boy, she ain't your typical Renegade. She’s a master at her profession.”

“Yeah? well, so am I.” Dean said as he took a long pull from his beer. Bela was the least of his worries right now.

“Have you talked to him yet?” The bearded man said.

“What is there to talk about?” Dean shrugged.

“Dean, he needs you right now. Hell, it’s on the way. just stop by.”

“It’s too risky. I think I've got a shadow.”

“It’s always too risky. there’s never going to be a good time. It’s the least you can do for me.”

Dean took another swig of his beer and gave the short man a curt nod. “Fine. One hour. then I’m Gone Girl.” The shorter man slid an envelope across the table to Dean. “Don’t be late for dinner, boy.” He stood, and exited the diner, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts. An old, crotchety waitress with glasses on a chain limped her way over to Dean’s table. “Specials are on the board,” she said as she pointed behind her with a pen, “and we’re all out of the turkey club. What’ll you take?” she added lazily.

“I’ll have the Cholesterol slam with extra bacon, hold the mayo, a side of fries, and a refill.” he said as he tapped his now empty glass. “That’s all.”

The waitress finished writing down his order and took away his glass. She walked away hastily, but not before giving him an evil glare. Dean didn't notice, for he was opening up the envelope. Inside it was a credit card, three red handkerchiefs, and an address with the words:

_Ritz Carlton in San Francisco_

_Floor 10, room 218._

scrawled on the bottom of a post-it.

“Bobby Singer, you crazy sonofabitch.” Dean smiled to himself.

Dean flipped over his paper place mat and pulled a pen from his pocket. Dean knew all about Bela Talbot. It was true what Bobby said, she was a master at her profession. Bela had robbed almost every major museum, collector, and fellow thief on the planet, including Dean. Dean took a breath, trying to keep his need for revenge from clouding his judgement. Sure, he wanted Bela dead, but he didn’t want to join her in the afterlife any time soon. Dean sketched a rough map of floor ten of the Ritz. He knew it rather well, given it was the last place he had seen the slippery bitch. Now she was just rubbing it in his face. he could practically hear her voice saying, _“Come and get me, Baby.”_ Or was that the blonde from last night?

“It’s hot, be careful.” The hagraven of a server snapped as she set down Dean’s food on his mat.

“Thanks.”  Dean threw back as she sauntered away.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” she lingered on that last bit, like it was poison to her.

“Yeah a slice of cherry pie would be great. Add it to the tab.”

 

The next five minutes would go down in news history as one of the most bizarre, horrific events in human history.

 

As the waitress set down the slice of apple pie, Dean grabbed her wrist and pulled her in close. “I put up with your glares, your attitude, and even your constant complaining about the youth of today. All I asked for was a piece of cherry pie, and you couldn't even do that.” a grin of malice spread over his face. “So do you know what I’m going to do?”

The waitress shook her head briskly.

“I am going to kill every single person in this god forsaken dive,” he whispered, “so that maybe, just _maybe_ , you’ll learn some respect for your customers.” He let his statement sink in, and then he picked up his fork, and jabbed it into her jugular. As she bled out on the floor, clutching feebly at her gushing throat, he stood over her and added, “Or, at least wish you had.”

It was late for a dive like this, so there weren't many patrons. Dean had done a sweep on his way in: two men in business casual, probably graveyard shift; the busboy, a gangly thing no more than 90 pounds; and the cook, a hefty man of Slavic origin. _“Probably a dirty commie”_ Dean thought.

_One._

Dean ran at the two men sipping their late night lattes, vaulting over a booth on his way. He used his momentum to snap the neck of the closest man with a kick to the back of the head, and planted both feet on the table in front of the other man.

He smiled, and kicked upwards, the force alone enough to break the man’s jaw and knock him out.

Dean stepped off of of his perch, and grabbed a steak knife from the table next to him. he slit the other man’s throat with a satisfying thwack.

_Two._

He locked eyes with the buss boy. “You’re next, Jack.”

“My name’s Jeff.” the boy sputtered from behind a dish rack.

“Does it really matter at this point?” Dean rushed him, and felt the sweet crunch of metal on bone as he watched the light leave Jim’s eyes. he pulled the knife out from between James’s ribs and let his body crumple to the ground.

_Three._

He stopped and listened, but all he could hear was loud opera music coming from the kitchen, he crept around the corner, knife in hand, and ducked as a meat cleaver flew over his head. Dean sighed, “I thought we were going to do this the fun way, Vladimir.” Dean pulled the revolver from his waistband, and took off the safety. He crept forward a few steps, searching for signs of movement. “God I feel like I’m Joseph McCarthy back in the Red Scare days.” Dean ducked behind a dish rack as another knife came careening towards him.

__Four._ _

Dean followed the path of the knife, and took aim. He frowned, sad that he wouldn't get to savor this one. He squeezed the trigger, and the bullet zipped between two shelves, hitting flesh and bone successfully, and Two tons of fun hit the floor with a thud.

_Five._

Dean rinsed his hands off in the sink, after he removed his bullets and fingerprints from the scene, and made his way over to the pie display. He found the cherry pie, and put it in a dessert box he found behind the counter. He looked up at the security camera in the corner as he strode out the door, and winked.

\------------------------------------------------------

Castiel stood at the sink of the dingy motel room, washing the dishes. He had just finished with the plates and silverware, all that was left was his knives. He carefully washed each blade in the warm, soapy water, turning each one over in turn to make sure it was as clean as could be. Not that it really mattered, Castiel just liked a clean knife.

Castiel stacked up the plates neatly and put the silverware on a towel to dry. He picked up his knives from the sink, and set them out on the towel as well. he picked up each one and dried it with another towel, admiring them before tucking them into his knife roll.

Castiel drifted into the bedroom of the motel room, drying his hands with a towel. The TV was on, blaring a newscast about a new CEO of Whole Foods, Dick Roman, or something? Castiel wasn't really paying attention. Politics and management bored him, unless they were at the edge of his blade, begging for a second chance.

An URGENT NEWS banner flashed across the screen, catching Castiel’s attention.

**_“Breaking news from just outside of Tuscon, Arizona. A man by the name of Dean Winchester is wanted for the massacre of a small diner off of I-19. Police have released the disturbing security footage to us, which you can watch at your own discretion on our website. This man is wanted for over 200 murders, and is considered armed and extremely dangerous. If you have any information regarding his whereabouts-”_ **

Castiel flipped off the television set and smiled. He pulled out his laptop, specially encrypted to prevent surveillance from the NSA, CIA, and whatever other alphabet agencies snooped through browser history “for our protection”. Castiel pulled up the footage, and watched as his target slaughtered innocent vics, all because he got the wrong pie. Castiel’s brow furrowed as Dean looked at the camera and… winked. As disgusted as he was, Castiel was impressed at how gutsy Dean was.

Castiel stood and ruffled through his trench coat he had left draped over another chair, pulling a map and a red marker from one of its pockets. He made a mark on the map about where the diner was, adding it to a seemingly random plot of marks all across the country. Dean had been busy over the last few years, but so had Castiel. He smiled a murderous smile, and returned the map to his trench coat pocket. He picked out a stiletto from his knife roll, and ran his finger along the blade, drawing a drop of blood.

“This is good,” Castiel said as a grin spread over his face. “A sharp blade is a dependable blade.”

He walked to the back room, blade in hand, to where he had a tall, stout, blonde man fastened to a chair.

“There’s been some interesting things on television today, Peter,” Castiel said as he taped the man’s mouth shut, “It would seem that I don’t need your... _military connections_ anymore.” Castiel watched as the ex-military op squirmed beneath his murderous gaze, but there was nowhere left for Pete to run. He was useless, and frankly uncooperative.

“I am terribly sorry about this.” Castiel said as he rolled up his sleeves and put on his latex gloves, “I can’t make any mistakes at this point. Your understand, right?”

Peter struggled against his bonds in vain, and Castiel picked up his stiletto from the table, admiring it in the soft light.

“God thanks you for your suffering,” Castiel said as he walked behind the man, practically smelling his fear, and put the blade to his throat. “May you find peace in His light, Brother.” Castiel flicked his wrist, and watched with delight as a curtain of blood rained down.

He washed the stiletto in the sink, returning it to its rightful place in his knife roll. Castiel packed up his laptop and knives into his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he exited the motel room. All that was left of the man in the trench coat was a single blue tie on the motel room’s door handle, swinging softly in the breeze.

\----------------------------------------------------------


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so late!!! I hope it was worth the wait. Any comments on how it should continue would be great!

"Well I'll be damned." Detective Benjamin Lafitte whispered as he watched the security footage from the diner. "He's a crafty somebitch, I'll give him that." 

He had been on the case since its infancy, and had watched as Dean went from killing criminals to civilians. The bloodlust was getting out of hand, but no matter how hard he tried, Benny just couldn't track him. After each kill, Dean just dropped off the map, only to appear again days later with blood on his hands.

A young redhead rapped her knuckles on Benny's open office door. "Sir?" She said cautiously, peering around the frame. Benny looked up from his computer.

"Yes, Anna?" He said with a soft smile. "A new case has come in for you." She said quietly, handing him an unusually thin case file.

"That's a bit light for me, don't you think?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I just do what they tell me." She said.

"Thank you, Anna. It's late. You go on and head home, kiddo. I'll see you in the morning." "Goodnight, Benny." Anna said as she dipped out of the door. "Goodnight, Red." Benny sighed as he looked at the new case file. A label stuck on the corner had a single word scrawled lazily across it.

_Castiel_

"What the hell kind of name is Castiel?"

\--------------------

Dean punched the all too familiar number into his phone, his thumb hesitating over the call button. He'd been in this situation more times than he wanted to admit. He just couldn't bring himself to call.

He sighed heavily and pressed send, listening to the phone ring a few times before a sleepy voice on the other line said. "Hello?"

Dean smiled softly to himself. "Hey, Sammy."

"Dean?"

"Who else calls you Sammy?" Dean chuckled.

Sam sighed. "What do you want, Dean?" He asked, his voice cold.

"Can't a man call his own brother just to say 'hi'?"

"You haven't talked to me in over a year."

Dean sighed. "I'll be in the neighborhood soon, Sammy. I thought we could meet up."

"Isn't that a bit risky? Even for you?"

"I've got it covered."

Sam was quiet.

"Please, Sammy. Just a few minutes is all I ask."

Sam sighed again. "Where?"

"Same as last time. In two days, at 10pm."

"Alright."

"Be safe, Sammy. I'll see you soon."

Dean ended the call and pocketed his phone. He strolled back into the main entrance of lavish room 218, and smiled at miss Bela Talbot, who he had tied to a chair and gagged.

"I'm going to ask nicely one more time. Tell me everything you know about who's following me. Please?" He took the gag from her mouth, and waited.

"In the words of an old friend," she said in her lusty British accent, "bite me."

"Gladly." Dean answered with a smile, "but I only reward people after they give me what I want."

"What? Your panties?" He punched her in the face with a satisfying crunch and gagged her again. The knife in his hand begging for blood.

"Tell me who is following me." Bela shook her head no and rolled her eyes.

"I warned you." Dean shrugged as he stabbed the knife into Bela's thigh, crushing her femur. He reveled in her muffled screaming, and twisted the blade, leaving it sit as he watched the blood blossom through her white satin dress.

"Are you gonna talk now? Or do I have to start chopping off fingers?" Bela nodded yes weakly, tears streaking her already bruised and bloody face. Dean removed the gag. "Tell me who they are, what they know, and why in the hell they're following me."

"I don't know why he's after you, but he's pissed." Bela hissed, her eyes glazing over.

"So it's a he?"

She nodded. "He promised me a very generous amount of money to know what my next move was." She coughed, spitting blood onto her front, "He knows you've had it out for me ever since that night."

"Give me a name, damnit!" Dean growled, his eyes wild with betrayal and bloodlust.

"He knows where you are now, Dean." Bela said weakly. "He's coming, he's pissed, and he's going to kill you." Her head lolled to one side, and her breathing slowed to a stop.

Dean checked for a pulse,but couldn't find one. "Damnit!" He shouted as he pulled the knife from her leg, not even stopping to enjoy the blood still flowing steadily from her wound.

Dean moved in a flurry of knives and cleaning wipes as he scrubbed down every inch of the room, removing fingerprints from every possible surface. He wiped down his knife before sheathing it in the holster on his belt, hidden under his over coat.

He checked his front for spatters of blood, and was pleased to find none on his dress shirt or tie. "You always were a neat bitch." He said to Bela's corpse as he made his way over to the safe in the wall, punching in the code she'd told him earlier.

The safe clicked open, and Dean grabbed the stacks of cash inside. He replaced them with a red handkerchief, and left the safe open. If this guy wanted a war, so be it.

Dean packed up the money neatly into his briefcase, and threw the rest of his things into it before opening the door with a gloved hand. He heard it click shut as he walked towards the stairwell, taking off the glove and shoving it into his pocket.

He straightened his tie, and buttoned up his overcoat, steeling his face as he made his way down the stairs two at a time. He made it down those ten floors in record time, and took the back exit, but not before catching a glimpse of a man in a blue tie and trenchcoat, who was just walking in the front door.

\------------------------------- Castiel approached the front desk of the Ritz Carlton hotel, ruffling through his messenger bag, taking stock of his belongings. To a passerby, he would've looked like any average Joe who couldn't find his keys.

He sighed and smiled politely at the man behind the counter. "What can I do for you today, sir?" The thin man in a suit asked cheerily.

"I'm looking for a Miss Bela Talbot." He said with a grin, "She told me she was staying here tonight. We have a big evening planned."

The receptionist frowned slightly and leaned closer to Castiel, "I'm not allowed to give out room numbers." He whispered.

Castiel threw on his best puppy dog eyes, and replied, "Please? I haven't seen her in almost a year. I know her, I promise. It's not like I'm going to kill her or anything. Pretty please?"

The receptionist sighed, and scrawled something down on a business card, shoving it and a room key towards Castiel. "I'm sorry," he said loudly, "I can't help you, but your room is ready, sir."

Castiel smiled and nodded at the man. "Thank you." He said as he headed for the elevator. He looked at the back of the card and read:

_Floor 10_

_Room 218_

He smiled and pushed the button for floor 10, listening to the classy elevator music. He sighed softly, and pocketed the card, touching his beloved stiletto knife sheathed in the pocket of his trench coat.

The elevator dinged, and it's doors opened to a brightly lit hallway. Castiel followed the signs until he found room 218, sliding the key card through the slot. He opened the door slowly, pulling out his knife. He fully expected Dean to jump him at any moment.

He followed the entryway into a lavish room, his eyes falling onto the corpse of Miss Talbot. He frowned and pocketed his blade.

Dean knew, and was gone.

Judging by Bela's still bleeding corpse, Castiel was not far behind him. He scanned the room, looking for any sign that might give Dean's whereabouts away. His gaze caught on a red piece of cloth inside the open wall safe, and he frowned again.

Castiel picked up the handkerchief and unfolded it, reading the words scrawled across it in sharpie.

_"You want a game? Let's play."_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny gets a whiff of a trail, while Dean and Sam finally get in touch again.  
> Broment time ;)

The camera flashed on the corpse of Bela Talbot, her once white dress now stained dark red with slowly drying blood, the stench of death still hanging in the air.

“Anythin’?” Detective Laffite asked, the local chief as he gazed upon the body.

“Well,” the tall, gangly man started, “No fingerprints, hair, spit, fluids-”

“I get the jist.” Benny wasn’t in the mood for skirting around like a back alley whore, “What about the vic? Anythin’ on her?”

The chief nodded. “Yeah, actually. she’s tied to hundreds of crimes, and not just petty ones, either. High profile stuff. Museum heists, bank robberies, an assassination here or there. She’s wanted all over the world.” he chuckled with disbelief, “It’s almost like he did us a favor, ganking her.”

Benny sighed at the complexities of the case. Why couldn’t his cases be clean cut  like they used to? The security footage showed Dean walking in the front, but not leaving. When interrogated, the security guard admitted to being distracted by a petite red head before being knocked out. Benny sighed. Dean had connections, and knew how to use them.  That redhead was one of the greatest hackers in the universe, untraceable save for her rare public appearances, like this one, and the symbol she would always leave on the hard drive of whatever she hacked. According to Anna, it was something called a Triforce of Courage from the video game Legend of Zelda. Benny didn’t know, or care. it was her call card, and that was all he needed.  Hell, all they had in her file was a post-it that said, “ _phenomenal hacker with flaming red hair_ ” and a sketch of the symbol.

Benny sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Damnit. He’s flaunting again. He _knew_ we wouldn’t catch him here.” He wanted to put his hand through a wall, but it would be considered tampering with a crime scene, and he didn't need that charge on his head right now. Instead, he sighed and slapped a hand on the chief’s shoulder, maybe a bit _too_ hard, causing the spindly man to fall forward into the table next to Bela’s still fresh corpse. “My bad, Chief,” Benny said after he earned a glare from the smaller man, “Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

“It’s alright,” he Chief started, righting himself, “Happens a lot, actually. I’m a bit of a clutz.” he held out his hand to Benny awkwardly, like human contact was a foreign language to him, “Call me Garth. I’m not into the formalities.”

Benny allowed himself to give Garth a curt smile and a single shake of his hand. “Benjamin.”

“I can tell this case is getting to you. I’m here if you need anyone to talk to about it. I know how rough cases can be on a man. This one time, i was chasing a-”

“Thanks, Garth.” Benny cut him off, really not wanting to listen to Garth drone on about one of his “High profile” cases. The man wouldn’t know high profile if it gave him a lap dance. “I’ll keep that in mind. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go have a look in that safe in the wall over there.”

True to his word, he checked out the safe, suprised no one else had thought to do it first. He was even more surprised to find it open. And hell if his face didn’t light up when he found a piece of hair caught on one of it’s bolts. He called one of the forensics guys over to get the sample into and evidence bag and have it ran for DNA and whatever the hell else the nerds down at HQ could tell from it.

But he didn’t thank his lucky stars just yet. That would only happen when there was a positive report on his desk, proving Dean was even in here in the first place.

\------------------

Dean drove the Impala into the railroad yard, cutting the engine when he parked next to the other, newer, fuel efficient car that was already there. _“I would much rather bend metal back than find new pieces of plastic for those stupid things.”_ Bobby had once said to him back when he was no older than 12.   
The railroad yard was quiet this time of year. The early snow tended to do that, but Dean made sure to time it out so that there was no chance of him being caught. Not tonight, anyway.

He grabbed the six pack from the passenger’s side and hopped out of the car, leaning on its trunk, and cracking open a bottle for himself. He just needed to take the edge off.

Sam clamored out of his plastic monstrosity and joined him.

“You’re late.” he said, the faintest hint of a smile crossing his face.

“I had an errand to run, but I picked up beer on the way.” He said, popping a cap on a longneck and handing it to his brother.

“Thanks.”

Both Winchesters took a swig from their respective beers, and sighed.

“I heard about Jess.” Dean said after a few minutes of silence. “I’m sorry, Sammy. She didn’t deserve to go out like that. She was a good kid. Good for you, too.”

Sam said nothing, and took another swig of his beer.

Dean sighed. He loved his brother. He would die for his brother. He wanted nothing more than to have his Sammy back, but after everything that he’d done, all the people he’d wasted, all the times he missed out on Sam because he was on the run, he knew it would be a long time before that happened. If it ever happened at all.

“I meant what I said a year ago, Sam.”

Sam turned towards his brother, a mixture of pain and grief painted on his face. “What? That you’re going to just shut me out because it’s safer for me that way? That you’re just going to leave me like everyone else and pretend like everything will be fine? Do you have _any_ idea what it’s like to have a con as my brother? To see your face plastered all over the universe and have to go to bed wondering if this is the night you finally get caught? To not know if the next time I see you will be like this or in some morgue somewhere? Dean, you’re the only family I’ve got left, and hell if I’m going to just sit around wondering what is happening to you when I could be-”

“Could be what, Sam? Out there with me? You and I both know that I can’t control this darkness.. this _thing_ inside me. And there’s no way in hell I am putting you anywhere near me. As far as the suits are concerned, you’re just a straight A kid with a shitty older brother.” Dean smiled sadly. “There’s no hope for me, Sammy. I’m going to die on the edge of a blade or at the barrel of a gun, there’s no getting around that.

“What am I supposed to do, Dean?” Sam said, fire on his words, “Just sit here and drown myself in guilt and whiskey? Because that’s the only outcome I can see without you. You’re my brother. I need you. Hell I can help you. You don’t have to shut me out! I’m not some idiot little kid anymore. I know how to fight, and I can help you get through this.”

“There is no getting through this.” Dean cried, “ _This_ is what I’ve become. Just like dad.”

Sam got quiet. Both Winchesters tried to sort through their emotions. Sam was all guilt, anger, and fear, while Dean was one part anger, one part loneliness, and ninety-nine parts pain. Pain for Sammy, pain for Dad, hell pain for himself. He was the reason everything went to shit, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

“I’m coming with you.” Sam said quietly, but with strength. Dean shook his head.

“Like hell you are. I’m not making the same mistake twice.”

“What happened to Dad wasn’t your fault, Dean! You have got to stop blaming yourself for it! He killed himself because of the pain of losing mom, not because you weren’t good enough. Not because you were a disappointment. In a weird way, Dad was _proud_ of you. He you were doing what he thought was right. You were continuing his legacy. When you killed that civ, he didn’t even bat an eyelash.” He looked into his brother’s green eyes, his own brimming with tears. “You always were his favorite. Even when you left, he couldn’t look me in the eye. Why do you think I moved here? It sure as hell wasn’t for the scenery.” he scoffed.

“It is my fault, Sam. i should have been there. For you, for mom, for him. But instead I was out doing _this_ , and I just-” His voice broke, “I can’t stop. I want to, but I can’t. I get filled with this- this darkness, and I- I like it, Sammy.” He brushed a tear from his face.

“Dean-” Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, but Dean jumped up and turned away from him.

“No, Sam!” Dean barked. “I won’t put you in harm’s way, not again.”

Sam kept his distance, knowing full well what Dean was like when he got worked up like this. “At least let me help you. Let me do _something_. Please, Dean. I can’t let you dig yourself into the ground like this.”

Dean let out a shaky breath, whipping his empty bottle over a nearby train car, listening to is shatter on the other side. He thought about the days when it was just him and Sammy against the world. That summer was the last time Dean could show his face in public without fear. It was the last time he saw Sam truly happy.

“Who killed her?” Dean said quietly.

“What?”

“I said who killed her?” he repeated, turning to face his brother.

Sam’s face hardened, the image of Jess’s mangled body still fresh in his mind. “I don’t know who they are.” he choked out.

“What _do_ you know?”

“They left a blue tie on the door handle.” Sam said, then he scoffed lightly. “I thought she was hooking up with another guy. The last thing I said to her was that she was that I never wanted to see her cheating face again.” A single, hot tear fell down his cheek, but Dean wiped it away with his sleeve.

“I will find him, Sammy. I’ll find him, and I’ll make him pay.”

\-----------------------------


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean reveals the information he learned about Jess's death from Sam, and he reaches out to a trusty friend for help.  
> *Chapter contains shifts in time*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terribly sorry I have not been updating anything lately. I've been dealing with some personal stuff, and my writing took the back seat. but I have a new chapter now, I apopogise that it is short and has no Cas, I will add another soon, hopefully this weekend. Thank you for staying loyal to me, and again I apologize for the wait.
> 
> please comment your thoughts below, as always!

True to his word, Dean was going to find this sonofabitch. He had a feeling they were somehow connected with the shadow following him. 

He couldn't do this alone, he knew. 

[Shadow. Blue tie. Possible foreign allies. Likes his dinner burnt.]

He sent the text to Charlie, hoping she could help. The woman was a genius when it came to technology and hacking. 

She knew the code. He had said "Someone's following me, his call card is a blue tie, he had possible ties to Bela, and he was behind Jessica's murder, which was the night of her and Sam's anniversary.

 

“I had made my way to Jess’s apartment for our anniversary,” Sam said, distantly. He laughed softly, “I was bringing her roses. I’d never done that before. I’d always meant to, just never gotten around to it.”

“That was very sweet of you, Sammy.” Dean said quietly. 

“I heard music coming from her apartment, the kind of music you listen to when you’re… you know… and there was a blue tie on the door...” He wiped a hand over his face and took a shaky breath, “I thought… I didn’t even knock. I dropped the flowers at the door and left.”

Dean felt his fingernails dig deep into his palms. He pursed his lips. “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“I called her as I drove off. She said she wasn’t even home. She said… She said she was running late from the hairdressers and wanted to meet me at the restaurant. She had no idea what I was talking about...” He trailed off, a single tear trailing down his cheek.

“What happened then?” Dean asked with a quieted rage.“I made my way to Jess’s apartment”

“I told her I never wanted to see her again.”

\-------------

[You cannot fast travel while over encumbered.]

 

Dean sighed as he read the text. Charlie’s advice was loud and clear. He was to get the hell out of dodge before he got too emotionally invested, and his judgement clouded. 

_ "I shouldn't have left,”  _ Sam's voice echoed in his mind, _ “She would still be alive if not for me."  _

Dean had assured his little brother that nothing he did would have changed the outcome for Jess, though on the inside he knew Sam might be right.

The killer was luring him out here, using Sam as the bait. Every fiber of his being told him to run, but he knew he couldn't abandon Sam. Not again.

\-----------

"Her car had 'faulty wiring'." Sam scoffed, "according to the police, anyway. It was found in an abandoned parking lot, burned to a crisp, with her in it. Locked doors, key in the ignition, the works. You and I both know what a setup looks like a mile away.”

"The killer must've somehow hacked the computer system in her car, that is the only way he could have locked the doors like that," Dean said cooly, “I’ve seen a friend of mine do it before. She’s a tech whiz.”

“Why the tie?” Sam croaked.

“They wanted to manipulate you, Sam. They wanted to hurt you so I would come here, so they could have their way with me.”

Sam looked down at his hands for a long moment, then he looked up at the older Winchester. He cleared his throat, steeled his face, and stood, towering over Dean. 

“I want you to make it hurt.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, transition chapter while i plot out some actual story lines.

Thoughts of torture techniques and the faint scent of death had Dean's head reeling. He white-knuckled the steering wheel and sped off towards Seattle. He made a promise to Bobby, and Dean wasn't the type to cancel.

He made a stop at a Gas n’ Sip to fill up and get a drink, careful to put on sunglasses and a scarf. It was raining, the clouds casting their ominous shadow across the land as far as the eye could see. Dean breathed in deeply, soaking up the sweet scent. “ _ Perfect murder weather. _ ” he thought.

Dean dumped his phone in the nearest trash can. He'd pick one up off a stiff later. Although the risk of tracking him was low, he wasn’t going to take any chances. Especially with-

“Hey grab me a bottle of water?” Sam said from the passenger’s side. 

\---------

The church wasn't anything to write home about, save for the stained glass window behind the altar that took up the entire wall.

It depicted an angel with red wings and sandy blond hair, his robe tinted silver in the moonlight. 

Castiel smiled softly to himself as he knelt in the front row of pews, his hands and knees finding the grooves of past sinners before him.

“Father,” he began, tilting his head, “I beg your forgiveness. I have sinned once again on my mission to rid your world of Evil.” He paused, a faint ringing beginning in his ears. 

“I ask for your forgiveness once more, dear Father, though I am not worthy of such a kindness,” the ringing became louder,almost deafening, but Castiel did not flinch. Instead he continued, “I ask for your guidance once more on my mission to destroy The Evil One. Show me the path I must follow as your devoted servant.”

Castiel's eyes snapped open, his eyes flashing inhumanly blue in the dark of the church. Images flashed in his mind of a red handkerchief, a little shaggy haired boy with bright, hazel eyes, the slaughter in the Arizona diner, the eyes of that same little boy, now grown up and kneeling before a freshly dug grave, and finally, a ‘67 Chevy Impala stopped at a Gas n’ Sip. Dean stepped out of the Impala, but paused, turning back to the car. 

That same pair or hazel eyes peered through the passenger's side window.

“The Evil One has a weakness.” A voice boomed over the scene. 

The world went black, and Castiel slumped forward, nearly losing consciousness. “Y-yes, Father.”

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm curious, does anyone have any theories on where I'm going with this? Any suggestions as far as where you want to see this go?
> 
> i sound like a broken record, but i haven't been writing lately, I've been dealing with some medical stuff, and new meds suck so much. I'm sorry I haven't been writing more for you guys, but i do appreciate feedback, good or bad. Love to you all~


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